Flux
by Mummyluvr
Summary: [Sequel to The Change] John is hunting a werewolf.  That werewolf just so happens to be his oldest son, who's on a hunt of his own.  Murphy's Law says they're bound to meet up.  Kinda better summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

All right. The sequel you've all been waiting for since you finished "The Change" five minutes ago, right?

**Title:** Flux

**Summary:** John is hunting a werewolf. The werewolf just happens to be his oldest son, who is on a hunt of his own in a small Michigan town. As usual, nothing goes as planned, and the family has a little impromptu reunion. Can things ever go back to the way they were? Wow, that summary sucked. Just trust me. It's a good story.

**Warnings:** You should all know by now that I hate John, so he's sometimes a jerk in my stories. I know he loves Dean, but, come on, the guy's self-esteem landed him in Hell. Great parenting, John. Really great.

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** The show and its characters aren't mine. If they were, werewolves would look like werewolves and Dean would think more of himself as a person.

* * *

Flux

Heavy footfalls crunched over a debris-ridden floor as John Winchester traveled slowly through the decimated remains of the little house, gun drawn and held at the ready. He reached the kitchen and gazed around the scene. Fresh blood was splattered across the floor and stood stagnant in four puddles. A set of large wolf tracks led from the puddles to the stairs. A set of equally bloody bare human tracks led the way back. Those tracks were joined by large shoeprints as they led out of the house.

"Dammit," John muttered, stuffing his pistol back into the waistband of his jeans, sniffing the air and picking up the faint scent of smoke as if wafted through the house from somewhere nearby, "just missed 'em."

**Three Months Later**

Sam Winchester awoke to the sensation of being poked repeatedly in the arm. He cracked open his eyes, his gaze traveling across the darkened motel room. His brother's bed was empty. "What?"

"He's here," Dean hissed, drawing Sam's attention to the space on the floor between the beds, where the older man was crouched down, hiding.

Sam sat bolted upright in the bed, thin sheets pooling at his waist. "_What_?"

Dean nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "I heard the truck. Smelled his cologne. He found us. Sammy, he found us."

Sam swallowed hard, staring down at his brother in shock. He couldn't remember ever seeing the older man so scared, so certain that his time was finally up. "How close?"

"He tired to get in. I heard the door knob rattling. I think he went to the office to ask for a spare key or something. What are we gonna do?"

Sam pushed the covers away from his lanky frame and jumped from the bed. "We're gonna grab our stuff, slide out through the window in the bathroom, sneak around to the car, get in, and drive far and fast," he said, stumbling into a pair of jeans, "good thing we already packed, huh?"

Dean nodded slowly, crawling across the floor to the chair where their duffel bag sat, packed and ready for the next hunt. "Yeah, I guess."

"Get up off the floor. He's not gonna shoot through the windows."

"How do you know?" Dean asked, getting to his knees, but refusing to actually stand.

"Because he could hit me." Sam hated to see the hurt look in his brother's eyes at the statement, but also knew that Dean would see the truth behind it. After all, why would John risk killing his remaining son? He was only after a monster.

"Grab your knife," Dean muttered, slinging the bag over his shoulder and crawling toward the open bathroom door.

Sammy rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, lifting up his pillow to reveal the gleaming knife of pure silver his brother insisted on him sleeping with "just in case." Just in case, of course, being Dean freaking out and trying to maul Sam in the middle of the night, something that could never happen, not while he was in control.

Sam tucked the knife away and joined his brother in the bathroom. Dean was staring out the window with a certain intensity that the younger man had named his 'Tom Welling Stare,' after the crippling looks that TV's latest Superman was known to give things he was trying to x-ray or blow up. Dean, who wasn't as avid a Smallville watcher as his brother, hadn't gotten the joke.

"He's not out back, is he?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head and turned around. "Not that I can see."

Sammy nodded, gazing through the glass into the darkness beyond, wondering what it must have looked like to his brother, who had gained a certain degree of night vision since being bitten by a werewolf nearly half a year before.

Dean sighed and grabbed the bottom of the window, bracing himself to try and fling it up, even though it had been nailed shut at some point, probably to prevent break-ins. He lifted it up like it was nothing, ripping nails out of wood and sending splinters flying. It was things like that that made Sammy envy his brother. Strength, speed, agility, and stamina like Dean's could easily come in useful in their line of work. Unfortunately, the perks didn't outweigh the fact that the older man was being hunted by his own father, a man who's orders had sent Dean into the situation that had ended with a painful curse.

"You coming?"

Sam snapped out of his thoughts to see Dean standing outside the window, gazing in at him with pleading eyes. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Well, think in the car," Dean snapped quietly, disappearing around the side of the motel.

Sam put his hands on the windowsill and wriggled his long body through, falling onto the ground with a soft thud. He walked around the side of the building, staying close to the wall, only stopping when he saw the crouching form of his brother. He joined Dean, keeping his body low, and peeked around to the front of the motel in time to see the manager opening the door of the room they'd just exited and ushering John inside.

Knowing that it was their only chance at a clean getaway, the brothers sped toward the car. Sam dove in through the open passenger-side window and reached over to unlock the door for his brother. Dean slid in behind the wheel and started up the car, pulling away from the small motel as his father came running out of the room, glaring after his sons as they sped off into the night.

o0o0o0o0o

"So," Sammy said, finally breaking the silence that had fallen in the car after the brothers had sped away from their homicidal father, "you never did tell me why you wanted to pack up yesterday before we went to sleep. Did you-?"

Dean shook his head. "No. If I had thought dad would crash our party I would have shagged ass outta that town sooner. I wanted to pack early so we could head out faster."

"Head out where?"

"Found a new hunt. Figured we should get on it right away. We can start tonight if we drive through the day."

"Tonight?" Sam asked slowly, "you do know what tonight is, right?"

"Uh, Thursday? Don't worry, Sammy, they rerun Grey's on Friday."

"No. Dean, it's-"

"You really think I'd forget that?"

Sam shrugged. "Just wanted to be safe, that's all. Do you really think it's smart to go out tonight?"

"It's a small town," Dean defended, "besides, people are dropping dead. It's kind of urgent."

"Fill me in," the younger man sighed, accepting defeat.

Dean grinned. "Knew you'd cave. Anyway, over the past six weeks there have been six deaths in this town in Michigan. Each under 20. Each of natural causes. They died in their sleep."

"Weird, but is it our kind of thing?"

"All of them died on Wednesdays. Something's feeding off of them. I'd say it picks its victims on Thursday and spend the week munching until they die."

"What could do that?"

"Exactly what we need to find out."

"And you're sure it can't wait?"

Dean sighed. "Look, Sammy, I know you're worried, but what could it hurt? It might actually help. Remember that witch that took me in as a pet a couple of months back? These things trust their own. They'll never suspect a werewolf to turn against them."

"Whatever," Sam said quietly.

"Dude, what's up with you?"

The younger man shook his head. "Bad feeling, I guess. Probably just because of dad getting so close."

"Well, we doubled around, turned some corners, and I'm pretty sure he won't be able to find us again for a while. That make you feel better?"

"Not really," Sam muttered, "but it doesn't matter, does it? We're still going."

Dean smiled and nodded. "Yep. First stop is the high school. The last one to die was only 17. I figure we can pose as grief counselors and talk to his friends."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

So, how do you like it so far? Reviews make my world go around, and you don't want to mess up its orbit, do you? Tell me what you think! 


	2. Chapter 2

All right! I'm back and I'm loving the love so far! For your information, my world is still in orbit, thanks to all you nice people! Here's your reward for reviewing so fast!

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Schools and jails had a lot in common, at least in Sam Winchester's mind. Both were made of concrete, were very bland, were dirty, and had a certain air of captivity about them. Yet, for the sake of being like everyone else, Sam had fought to continue his education, and it had cost his brother any chance at ever being normal.

"You wanted to see me?" Sam jumped out of his thoughts and turned to stare at the pretty girl that had sat down in front of him in a small side room of the guidance counselor's office. He looked over at Dean to see the older man eyeing her like a hungry wolf eyes a sheep.

_Bad analogy_, Sam thought, drawing his eyes from his brother and back to the girl. "Yeah. I'm Sam and this is Dean. We're grief counselors that are visiting to help with the recent death."

"Oh." Her face fell. "Well, Brad was my boyfriend. We did almost everything together."

"What was he doing last Thursday?" Dean asked, jumping right to the point, "uh, Mindy, is it?"

Mindy nodded. "Thursday is our walk night. We watch 'Grey's' or 'CSI' or 'The Office' or that cool show on the CW. I forget what's its called. The title's pretty generic. Starts with an S, I think."

"You and Brad?" Dean prodded, obviously getting fed up with the girl's list of Thursday night viewing, probably comparing her to a TV Guide magazine in his mind.

"Right. Well, we'd watch whatever was on, and then we'd go for a late-night walk in the park. We saw Mr. Jennings there, too, sometimes. He was the assistant principal."

"Was?" Sam asked.

"Well, he died about three weeks ago."

"And he walked through the park on Thursdays?"

Mindy shook her head. "We only saw him sometimes. I think he had to work late or something. He always rides his bike to school, and I think he short-cuts through the park. Or, he did."

Dean nodded. "Ok, so back to you and Brad. Did anything happen the last time you went through the park?"

"We saw… this guy."

"Describe him."

"I dunno," the teen shrugged, "he was really tall, and he had dark hair and light eyes. He ran into Brad, grabbed his arm, and just stared at him. It was creepy."

"Was Brad ok after that?"

"Well, he stumbled a little bit as he walked me home, and he said he was really tired. He was tired a lot."

"Anything else happen before he died?" Sam asked, marveling at the girl's composure.

"He was really pale. He walked kinda slow through the halls. He stopped showing up for football practice, and he kept falling asleep in class. Like he was totally drained."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Mindy. You know, for someone who just lost her boyfriend, you're really holding up well."

"Yeah, well, to tell the truth, I was gonna cut him loose soon, anyway. He's not that great at football, and the quarterback's been eyeing me lately." She flashed a winning grin and whirled out of the room.

"I am so glad we didn't go to high school here," Sam mumbled as the door shut behind her.

"And I thought I was heartless," Dean muttered.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Psychic vampire," Dean announced as he strode into the motel room, Sam trailing behind him. The brothers had spent a couple of hours running around town, tracking down anyone they could find that would talk about the deaths. All of the victims had suffered the same symptoms before dying in their sleep.

"Like, what, a mind-reading blood-sucker?" Sam questioned, raising one eyebrow in disbelief.

"No, like a creature that can drain its victims of their psychic energy."

"And you think that's what we're dealing with?" Sam asked, flinging the duffel bag off his shoulder and onto his bed.

Dean shrugged. "Makes sense, doesn't it?" He opened the bag and began digging through it, looking for their father's old journal. "I mean, the way the victims died, in their beds at night, just screams old-school vamp. The draining of energy throughout the week is a psychic vamp's MO. I'm just _ow_!"

Sam's head snapped over to stare in his brother's direction. "What is it?"

Dean pulled his hand slowly out of the duffel bag, revealing the long, silver knife it was curled around. A section of his hand was red and blistered, as if he'd been burnt. "Thought I told you not to put this in here."

Sam grabbed the knife from his brother's hand. "Sorry, but you rushed me with the packing, and I didn't want someone to see it in the school. I had to put it somewhere."

"How about under your pillow?"

Sam shook his head. "I still don't know why you make me keep this thing around."

"I make you keep it around so I don't wake up with your blood all over me."

"But you can control it-"

"Not in the beginning."

"So you lock yourself in the bathroom," Sam reminded him, "you come out when you're human enough to work a doorknob. I'm not in any danger."

Dean hung his head. "Better safe than sorry."

Sam walked over to the bed closest to the door, the one that he had insisted on taking after their father had started hunting Dean, and stuck the weapon under the pillow. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Dean said, rummaging around the bag for the journal once more.

"You want me to bandage up that hand?"

The older man shrugged. "Naw. It'll go away eventually."

"You're forgetting what the knife was made of. That'll stick around longer than the others. I'll go get the first aid kit."

Dean pretended not to hear as he found the journal and began flipping through the pages. By the time Sam was back, the older hunter had fallen onto his bed and was busy skimming over a hastily scrawled entry.

"Does it say how to kill them?" Sam asked, pulling Dean's hand off the book and inspecting it.

"Same as regular vamps," Dean reported, flinching as his brother started cleaning the wound, "beheading."

"Great. Any ideas on how to find it."

"From what we heard today, I'm guessing it hangs around the park late at night, looking for victims. That's good news for us. The place is pretty secluded and there are a lot of trees." He grinned. "It's good for the wildlife."

"So we stake out the park and look for someone matching the description that girl gave us today. Sounds too easy."

"It is. These things feed differently. No puncture wounds because they don't need blood. It takes contact."

"What kind?"

"Physical and eye."

"Ok, so don't look at it. Anything else we should know?"

Dean nodded, flexing his injured hand as soon as Sam was finished with it. "This one's been feeding pretty slow. Usually only takes two or three attacks, but a human can be killed by one meal. We're gonna need to do this fast."

"Guess we'll head out tonight with the machetes, then, huh?"

Dean nodded again, closing the book. "Sounds easy. Five bucks says something's gonna go wrong."

Sammy rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid. No sane person would take that bet. Something always goes wrong."

The older man grinned, staring at his hand. "Got that right."


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry about the short-ness of this chapter, guys. Hopefully the eventfull-ness of it makes up for that. Heehee. I like making up words!

* * *

"This is stupid, Dean," Sammy hissed, glancing down at his brother as they walked through the forest together, the full moon high in the sky, bathing the lush park in its ethereal glow, "You can't pass for a German Shepherd."

Dean glared up at him, amber eyes glowing in the light cast by the moon. He was down on all fours, plodding along beside his brother in an attempt to blend in that wasn't really working.

"A poodle, maybe," Sam amended, "but not a Shepherd."

Dean nudged Sam's leg with his nose strong enough to nearly topple the younger hunter over. Sam responded by reaching down and shoving Dean's shoulder, temporarily throwing him off balance. Dean reached up with one paw-like hand and pushed against his brother's hip. Sam nudged him with his leg.

"Stop it, Dean," he scolded, "we're looking for something, remember?"

Dean pretended not to hear and shoved him again. Sam responded with a hard push that actually sent the older man down. He stopped his stroll and looked down at his brother, who was laying on his side in the grass, glaring up at Sam with a feral glint in his eyes.

Sammy took a stumbling step backwards, away from the werewolf, as Dean pounced, wrapping clawed fingers around Sam's shoulders and sending them both rolling end-over-end down a hill.

They came to a stop at the bottom of the slope, and Sam found himself, for the second time in his life, pinned by a couple hundred pounds of incredibly pissed werewolf. Dean growled low in his throat, pulling back his lips to reveal a set of wickedly sharp teeth, and Sam closed his eyes, leaning away from the inevitable attack.

He'd thought his brother had such good control, could handle the violent instincts and urge to kill, but he had been wrong. His father had been right. Dean was a monster. He couldn't be trusted. He-

Sam's thoughts were interrupted as something wet slid up the side of his face. He snapped his eyes open to see Dean grinning down at him, tail wagging in delight.

"Did you just _lick me?_" Sammy shouted, disgusted, as he pushed Dean off and started wiping slobber off his face, "dude, that's…" He trailed off, staring at Dean, who was gazing off into the trees, body rigid, ears perked up.

"What is it?" Sam asked, climbing out from underneath his brother, "did Timmy fall down the well again? You'd think he'd stop doing that after a while, huh?"

Dean ignored his brother and ran off through the trees. Knowing that it had to be pretty important for Dean to let the Lassie joke slide, Sam followed. He crashed through the trees behind his brother, only slowing when he saw the hulking shape of the wolf in front of him.

He approached the edge of the wooded area and peered out between the trees to see what had captured Dean's attention. In a grassy area just beyond the line of trees, two men stood. The taller of the two had a strong hold on the shorter one and was staring deeply into his eyes.

"That's our vamp," Sam whispered, making to break cover, "let's go."

Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the trees, whimpering.

"What?" Sam asked, fighting to get out of the strong grasp, "what is it?" Dean pointed toward the men, specifically toward the shorter of the two. Sam squinted to see any discernable features on the silhouette and gasped when he finally made out the dark hair, stern face, graying stubble, and ragged clothing of his father.

"It can't be. How'd he find us?" Dean shrugged and released his brother, pointing first to Sam, then their father. The younger man nodded, understanding. Dean pointed to himself, then the vamp. Another nod.

The brothers broke cover, running toward the two figures. The vampire saw them and dropped his victim, who crumpled to the ground. Dean chased after him through the park, while Sam checked their father for signs of life. Unfortunately, he was still breathing.


	4. Chapter 4

Yay! A longer chapter. Thanks again for reviewing, guys. I guess that's all I really have to say...

* * *

John Winchester tried to open his eyes. It was a challenge. His eyelids seemed to weigh a ton and refused to respond to his brain's instructions. He finally decided to give up, let himself rest, and try to remember what had happened.

He'd been driving through the small Michigan town, looking for a place to set up as HQ as he continued the search for his son and Dean. He'd been driving by a ratty-looking motel when he'd seen the Impala parked out front. It had been a happy coincidence.

He'd watched the motel, and had seen, much to his dismay, Sammy and the monster walking out of the room after nightfall. He'd given them a slight lead and then followed them, staying downwind, to the park.

He'd kept away from them, still downwind so the wolf wouldn't catch his scent. He'd heard the sounds of a scuffle. As he'd run to see what that thing had done to his son, he'd been stopped. The man that stood between him and his son had been tall and strong, and had grabbed his shoulder and looked into his eyes. That was the last thing he remembered.

Once again, John tried to open his eyes. He succeeded and found himself in a small, slightly run-down motel room that smelled of gunpowder and wet dog. He didn't recognize the place, even though it felt like home. After a while, all motels begin to feel like home if you stay in enough of them.

He was lying spread-eagled on the bed, his wrists tied to the bedposts. Grunting, he shifted, bringing his legs together and into a more comfortable position. He was about to call out and see who had tied him up when he heard voices coming from another part of the room, behind the partition that hid the bathroom.

"I say we leave him." He knew that voice. It was Sammy. His Sammy. His son had found him.

"No." Dean's voice. Harsh, a little confused. John felt a shiver run up his spine. Every nerve in his body started screaming at him to run. The thing he'd been hunting for three months had wound up capturing him. He would be mauled, at best.

"What do you mean 'no?'" Sam again.

"I mean, this thing is like other vampires, Sammy. Once it gets a scent, it's got it for life. That's how it tracked down those kids. It sniffed 'em out. It doesn't let its meals live. Dad's next."

"So? He's been hunting you down, Dean, trying to kill you. Maybe he deserves it."

John barely held back a gasp. He'd known that Sam didn't always agree with him, definitely didn't agree with him on this particular issue, but leaving him to die seemed cruel.

"Nobody deserves that," Dean shot back, "look, I know what he's been trying to do, but if we leave him tied to the bed and get outta town, that thing's gonna drain him."

"He can get out."

"We tied him pretty tight."

"He'll be fine."

"No, Sammy. I'm not gonna leave him to die. Besides, this might be our chance."

"What chance?"

"The chance to change his mind about me."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"If we save him, he'll know I'm not a monster. But if I run away with my tail between my legs and he gets out, he's just gonna keep on doing what he's been doing. He'll never stop. You know how stubborn dad is."

"Which is exactly why he'll never change his mind."

"I dunno," Dean said, and John could hear the smile in his voice, "you changed yours."

"That was different."

"All I'm saying is that we should try to save him. He is our father, after all. And if he doesn't come around, we can always leave him on the bed and run. OK?"

He heard Sam sigh, a sound made to stall for time as he thought up a better argument. Finally he conceded. "Ok. We'll tell him when he wakes up."

"_You'll_ tell him, you mean," Dean said as he headed around the little wall that separated the room into two sides, "I get the distinct feeling he likes you better."

Sam grinned, rounding the corner behind his brother. "Just stay behind me, ok?"

John cleared his throat, looking at the men he'd abandoned six months before, his heart aching. Sam looked so much older, more mature, as if the weight of the world had fallen on his shoulders. His eyes were harder, more threatening, daring him to try and make a move.

Dean, on the other hand, actually looked younger. The dark circles that had sat just below his eyes since he was four had disappeared almost completely and there was a healthy glow about him. His eyes, however, were the same: haunted and troubled, a window into a fragile soul.

"Dad," they said at the same time, though Sam's voice was louder and harsher, where Dean's was barely a whisper.

"There any reason you tied me up?"

"What do you think?" Sam barked, stepping in front of his brother and narrowing his eyes.

John sighed, really not in the mood for a fight unless he could stand nose-to-nose with his son in an attempt to make him back down. "What was it?"

"Psychic vampire," Dean reported quietly, stepping around to his brother's side, "we were hunting it last night when we found it attacking you. It saw us and ran off. I chased after it and Sam made sure you were all right."

John nodded. "Since you seem to be the calm one here, why don't you tell me why I'm tied up?" He didn't mean to put that cold edge in his voice, really, but he couldn't help it. It seemed to be second nature whenever he was talking to something that wasn't human.

"We didn't want you to do something you might regret," Dean answered slowly, refusing to meet his father's eyes.

"What might that be?"

"We didn't want you to kill him," Sam snapped, startling everyone with the ferocity of his words.

"You're not acting like yourself, Sammy," John muttered, thinking aloud, "what happened? Did he bite you?"

"No, dad, he didn't bite me. Did you ever think that I could be acting like this because you're trying to kill my brother?"

"That's not your brother," the old hunter answered calmly, wincing inwardly as he saw Dean flinch and edge closer to Sam.

"_Yes_, he _is_."

"It's not even really a he anymore, Sammy, it's an it. And it's gonna kill you if you let it."

"Dean would never hurt me. You know that."

"That isn't Dean."

"Prove it."

"What is he when the moon rises, Sam?"

Sam straightened up, jutting his chin out and glaring down his nose at his father. "_He's. Still. Dean_."

John shook his head. "You can't see it, can you? Can't see that he's no different than-"

"Would a monster want to save you?" Dean shouted suddenly, tearing his family out of their argument. Two sets of shocked eyes turned to him.

"What?" John asked.

"Sam wanted to leave. He wanted to leave you here, tied up in this motel, to die. If it hadn't been for the fact that you could wake up and start following us again, he would have left you in that park, too. That thing's gonna come back and it's gonna try to finish the job. I'm not gonna let it. _He _was."

John stared at him, eyes hard and unemotional, face set. "Saying you'll save me to get me to trust you. It's a good trick."

Dean sighed, slumping his shoulders and running a hand through his hair, which, John noticed, he'd let grow out a little since the last time they'd all been together. "Fine. Be like that. But I'm still gonna save you from that vampire." He turned to Sam. "I'm starving. You want anything?"

"Burger and fries," the younger man replied, glaring at their father. Dean nodded, grabbed his car keys from the dresser, and headed out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

All right. It's the weekend, I should be shopping for homecoming apparel nad going to the local football game, but am I? No. I'm sick with a friggin allergy attack. Yay, me! On the bright side, here's another chapter that i now have the time to post!

* * *

Sam didn't blink. He just stared, eyes narrowed, at his father. John stared back with equal resolve, eyelids twitching with the strain of remaining open. Both men were stubborn, both refused to back down, both believed that he was right.

"Let me go, Sammy," John finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen as soon as Dean had slammed the door. "Let me go and we can take it out. We can end this, son."

"How can you say that?" Sam demanded, "it's Dean. "We're talking about _Dean_. The man would give his life for you!"

"The_ man_ would."

"It's still him," Sam argued, "he's exactly the same, dad."

"No. He's a monster, Sam, something we hunt. You just can't see it because-"

"Because what? Because he's my brother? Because he raised me? Because he forgave me for leaving him? Because he was there when my girlfriend died? Because he sits up with me when I have nightmares? Because, no matter what, he always puts me first, even before himself? Please, dad, enlighten me as to the reason of my apparent stupidity."

"He isn't like a little lost puppy that you can bring home and housebreak, Sam. He's _dangerous._"

"He can _control _it," Sam stated for what seemed like the thousandth time. Why did his father have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't he see what was right in front of his eyes? Dean was Dean. He'd always been Dean, and he would always be Dean. Nothing had changed, not really.

"So you've said," John muttered, his patience obviously wearing thin. He'd almost forgotten how hard it was to reason with his son when he truly believed that his way was the right way. "But for how long? How long before he slips up? How long before he cracks and somebody dies? How long before you see that a monster is a monster, no matter its past?"

"He's careful," Sam pointed out, "it's harder to control it when he first changes, so he locks himself in the bathroom. He only comes out when he's sure that he's all right."

"He could break down the door," John reasoned, "you know that. He's strong. I saw the window in that last motel room, son. He could get out if he really wanted to. He could still hurt you."

"He makes me sleep with a knife under my pillow, dad. A _silver_ knife. It's right there." He pointed to the pillow that lay under his father's head. "He actually gave me permission to kill him if he ever wigs out in the middle of the night. Does that sound like a monster to you?"

"It's all a trick, Sammy."

"He saved me," Sam argued, growing more frustrated by the minute, "that werewolf you sent me after- the one that bit him- caught me off-guard in the forest. It would have killed me, but Dean jumped outta nowhere and scared it off. He saved me. He wants to save _you_, too, which I don't get. I mean, you've been hunting him down to kill him for nearly half a year now. _It's still Dean_."

"You can tell me that until you're blue in the face, son, but it doesn't change the fact that he was bitten."

"It's not his fault," Sammy said, tone pleading, eyes begging his father to give in and understand, to finally abandon the hunt that threatened to tear their family apart, "it's _ours_. Don't you get it? You left, I left, and he couldn't handle it. He was alone, he felt unwanted, and he got reckless on the hunt. What's the point of being alive and well if no one wants you around?"

"He told you that?" John asked, voice and eyes softening. He'd seen the look in his eldest son's eyes as he'd left, had acknowledged the raw pain and desperation there and chosen to ignore it. Sam had a point.

"No," the younger man shook his head, "'course not. He's _Dean_. He doesn't share and care. But while you were hunting him, I was watching him. He's happiest when we're together, that much I know for sure. It's even easier to see when he changes. I get the feeling that, no matter how hard he tries, he's never gonna be able to control that tail."

John couldn't help but grin at that. "He has a _tail_?"

"Oh, yeah," Sam nodded, "and a cold wet nose, and one bent ear, and," he paused, smiling, "and incredibly wet tongue."

The older hunter cocked an eyebrow. "What was that last one?"

Sammy shrugged, still grinning. "It's nothing. We got into a shoving match the other day, wound up rolling down a hill, and he pinned me down and licked me. Just typical brother stuff."

John smiled, his body relaxing, expression softening. "You really believe this, don't you?"

"If I didn't, do you think we'd be having this argument?"

"Good point." He sighed. "Tell you what. You untie me, and I'll stick around town long enough to kill the vampire that attacked me. That should be enough time for you two to get out of town and lay low."

"You'll stop hunting him?"

John closed his eyes, blocking out the hopeful look in his son's eyes, the same look he'd seen in Dean's eyes so many times before, when he'd been promised a holiday spent as a family or something that he'd begged for or for John to stay just a little longer. "I can't promise that."

"After all of this-"

"I can't just let him go knowing what he is. It's things like him that kill people, that killed your _mother_."

"He is nothing like that demon."

"Just untie me and leave."

"No."

"Why not?"

Sammy sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Because Dean wants to save you. Thinks he's got something to prove. Like saving your life is gonna change the way you think about him. But you and I… we both know it won't change anything, will it?"

John opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as the door opened and Dean walked in, carrying a couple of bags of take-out. "Lunch time!" the werewolf announced happily.

o0o0o0o0o0o

One of the many joys of fatherhood, John had discovered over the years, was getting to play mediator. That task was a lot easier when he wasn't tied to a bed, though.

"We can't leave him alone!" Dean shouted for the seventh time, a number John knew with certainty because he had counted.

Sam replied with an eye roll. "Well, we can't stay here and hunt for the vamp at the same time, now, can we, Dean?"

John watched his sons, dreading the spark in his oldest boy's eye that meant that he had an idea. "Yes, we can," Dean said slowly, "if we split up."

"No," Sam snapped.

"Why not? I can stay with dad-"

"No way. If anyone's staying with dad, it's gonna be me."

"Not sure if you've been keeping track, Sammy, but the moon's full for more than one night in a row, and you had a point in the park. I'm not exactly as inconspicuous as I could be. Besides, dad's tied up."

"What if he breaks out?" Sam argued, trying to ignore the fact that his brother had a valid point.

Dean shrugged. "I knock him out and tie him up again."

"What if-?"

"Look, Sam, I get that you're worried, but you don't have to be a girl about it. I can take care of myself, and it's the only way. We need to be ready whether it comes back for dad or not."

Sam sighed, slumping his shoulders in defeat. He wasn't happy about it, and still didn't trust his father, but the conversation he'd had earlier in the day with the man had given him hope. Hope that the hunt might end, that John would come to his senses, that Dean could get his family. He wasn't sure if that hope would last if John saw his oldest son transform into a furry freak of nature, though. After all, the supernatural racism that all hunters seemed to be susceptible to ran deep and would be difficult to combat. Hell, Dean even hadn't gotten over it completely.

"I guess that settles it," John said, startling the brothers. In their fight, they'd actually forgotten he was there.

Dean nodded, his eyes averted from the bed that held his father. "Guess so."

Sam looked at Dean, turned to John, and then looked back at his brother. "Don't take your eyes off him," he warned the werewolf.

"Don't worry," Dean replied quietly, staring up at Sam with determination in his eyes, "I won't."

Sam nodded, not fully comprehending why his brother wasstill so faithful to the man that had trained them to kill, the same man that had abandoned, hunted, and tried to kill him, but knowing that the subject was closed.


	6. Chapter 6

OK. I'm back with another update. thanks again to everyone who's reviewing. it relaly means a lot. i'm glad you like the story so far :)

* * *

John looked out the window at the setting sun as Dean pulled the curtains roughly shut. Sam had left a few minutes before, leaving the hunter and the hunted together in the room, two pieces of rope the only things separating them. "Don't want people to see, huh?"

Dean turned around, truly looking at him for the first time that day. The familiarity of that gaze made John's heart ache, made him remember his son the way he used to be: human. "Do _you_ want to see?" Dean asked, his voice sincere, curious.

John blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Do you want to see? I mean, I usually lock myself in the bathroom 'cause my clothes would end up ruined or I'd end up embarrassed if I didn't, but if you want to watch…"

John narrowed his eyes. "Sammy says you have trouble when you first change."

"You talked to Sam about it?"

The older man nodded. "We had a conversation."

Dean smiled, moving from the window to sit down at the foot of his father's bed, noting that the hunter didn't pull away. "Just between you and me, I've gotten better at it. It's not an issue anymore. I didn't want to tell Sam because he'd turn it into a big thing. It still doesn't change the fact that it's better in private. Saves my perfect wardrobe."

John grinned, something else that was noted by the werewolf and locked away in his mind, increasing his hopes that his father would learn to accept him as his brother had. "Has Sammy seen?"

"Once."

"What do you want to do?"

Dean smirked, glancing over his clothes before looking back up at his dad. "I promised I wouldn't take my eyes off you. Besides, the freaks come out at night. _All_ of them. The minute that sun goes down, our sucky little friend's gonna be back out. I'm not leaving you alone."

"Don't have much of a choice, then, do I?"

The younger man shrugged. "You could close your eyes."

John sighed and looked at his son, taking in everything and realizing how much he'd missed. When had Dean grown up? He'd been gone so often during his son's childhood that he really had no idea. He'd just walked through the door one day to find a man where a kid had once stood, still waiting for him, telling him everything would be all right. And then one day he'd stumbled through the door and found a broken man, one who had yelled at him for pushing Sam out of their lives, one that had never been the same after that.

And now he was looking at a monster.

"It's not all bad," Dean said softly, looking down at his hands and pulling John from his thoughts, "there are things… things I can do now that I couldn't before. Things that actually help with what we do."

"Hunting?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I guess that makes sense, though, huh?"

"What kind of things?"

"Standard super-human abilities," the younger man said, smiling sadly and refusing to meet his father's eyes, "strength, speed, agility, that kind of thing. I can see in the dark. My hearing's better. Smell, too. Knew you were at that last motel before you'd even gotten outta the truck."

John nodded slightly. "Anything else?"

"Healing." He said it so softly that John had to strain to hear. "I heal fast. It's pretty cool, really." Dean looked back up at him with eyes pleading for understanding and sympathy and love.

John looked away. "What time's the moon up?"

Dean glanced over at the clock that sat on a little table between the beds. "'Bout now," he muttered, standing up and stumbling across the room to lean against the far wall. He rested his head against the gaudy wallpaper, breathing deeply, his arm wrapping itself around his stomach.

"You alright?" John asked, concern in his voice.

Dean looked over at him with wide, surprised eyes, eyes that seemed to glow in the light of the room's flickering bulbs. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, wrapping his other arm around his stomach and sinking to his knees by the wall.

John tried to scoot farther up on the bed, his paternal instincts temporarily overriding his hunter's judgment. He wanted to know what was happening to his son, needed to find out what was causing him pain and stop it before things got worse.

And then he remembered what Sam had said, remembered that he was the one who'd sent his emotionally fragile son into a dark forest in search of a werewolf, that it was all his fault, that if he'd stayed, this wouldn't have happened.

Dean moaned, a noise that bubbled out from deep in the back of his throat, a guttural sound that nearly resembled a growl. It brought John out of his guilt and back to the present, back to the scene that was unfolding before him.

Course, sandy fur was rippling across his son's body, tearing down his face and neck and arms, poking through the holes in his jeans. The seams of his shirt and pants stretched and ripped as already well-toned muscles grew larger, stronger, better. Dean reared up and ripped off the remnants of his shirt, tossing them to the floor. He set his hands on his knees, still breathing deeply, and John watched as long, sharp claws wormed out from his fingernails, cutting little holes in the strong denim of his jeans.

John thought about turning away, about leaving his son to his misery, letting him undergo something obviously painful alone. But he couldn't look away. He had to watch. It was his duty as a father and as the man that had caused the pain. He had to watch.

Dean's socks split open as his feet changed and claws ripped through the soft cotton. He staggered a little, nearly toppling over, but managed to gain his feet. He looked over at John with those same, sad eyes, eyes that never really seemed to change, that always betrayed what he'd hidden away in his soul. The hunter saw shame buried there, shame at what he'd become, shame that he was giving into the pain and whimpering softly, shame that his father had to see him like that.

"It's ok, son" John whispered despite himself, feeling the heat prickling behind his eyes, knowing that he was bound to betray himself, that he would show emotion. What kind of father would he be if he didn't?

The werewolf moaned again, but this time the sound was softer, giving away his exhaustion. The sound intensified, turning into a muffled howl of pain as Dean's ears grew to points and slid slowly up to the top of his head, where one promptly flopped over, giving him a look of innocence that didn't really fit.

Dean groaned, leaning back up against the wall and pointing his nose to the ceiling. John watched with horror as his son's mouth and nose bulged out, elongating to form a canine snout.

The wolf stumbled a bit, letting out a sharp bark of pain as his knees snapped backward, reversing to make the change complete. He reached down and tore the remnants of his pants from his body, exposing a long, powerful tail that swished back and forth behind him.

Figuring it was over, John let himself relax, leaning back onto the mattress and pillows, releasing tension he hadn't even realized was there. Dean looked up at him with those same sad eyes, eyes searching for compassion.

"That was…" John began, not quite sure how to finish the statement. It had been different, actually watching what some people had to go through one week out of the month. "Are you ok?"

Dean grinned, an expression that looked oddly out of place on the hulking mass of monster, and nodded.

"Can you talk?"

The werewolf shook his head, still looking at John. The hunter smiled, a shaky expression, but a genuine one. Dean cocked his head to one side, which elicited a laugh from his father at the comical scene it created.

"You just gonna stand there all night, or what?" he asked. As Dean moved away from the wall and toward the beds, his father finally saw what Sam had meant when he'd said the tail gave it away.

o0o0o0o0o0o

The first thing John noticed as he was pulled from a light slumber was that he had fallen asleep. He'd let his guard down, even though he was tied to a bed and locked in a room with a werewolf.

It had been pretty easy to relax, he recalled, with Dean sitting on the edge of the room's other bed, remote held slack in one paw-like hand, watching TV. It had provided a sense of security, a sense of familiarity, a sense that nothing had changed. Staring at the television, the younger hunter hadn't even _looked_ like a werewolf.

So John had fallen asleep. Now that he was awake again, though, he saw that Dean looked _very much_ like a werewolf.

Dean was sitting on his bed, crouched down, muscles bunched and tensed, readying for something. His ears were plastered to his skull and his eyes held a malicious spark that couldn't have belonged to anything human. The fur on his neck and back was sticking up straight, his tail whipping back and forth in anticipation, claws kneading into the sheets of the old bed. His lips were pulled back in a snarl to reveal, long, sharp teeth that were dripping with saliva. He was staring at his father.

John felt his own muscles tense, every nerve in his body jumping to life as he scolded himself for dropping his guard. It had all been a trick, just a ruse designed to make him feel safe, and, therefore, vulnerable. A monster was a monster, no matter the face it wore in the daylight.

He stared at the thing that had once been his son, watching it with a hunter's intensity, waiting for it to strike.

And then the window broke.

* * *

Evil cliffie of DOOM!!!!!! 


	7. Chapter 7

I feel so bad about not updating yesterday after that evil cliffie of doom, but for the first time since Prom real life trumped Super. I know. It's shocking. I wanted to get a dress for Homecoming, so that's where I was. All day. Seriously, from, like 1 to 7. My feet were killing me!

Anywho, here's the update!

* * *

Dean watched as the vampire broke through the window, flew the short distance to John's bed, and closed a cold hand around his father's chin, forcing the older man to look into its eyes. He saw his opportunity and leapt from the bed, powerful muscles uncoiling, to launch himself into the weak beginnings of the plan that had formed in his mind since he'd first sensed the vamp. As he flew towards the creature, he reached down and sliced through one of the ropes that bound his father to the bed with his claw.

He tackled the vampire to the floor, rolling off the clammy creature and rising to his full height, hoping to intimidate it. The vamp also rose, brushing itself off, and towered over him, a lank monster that could have made Sam look tiny.

Dean flattened his ears back again, ducking his head and snarling, the sound of his deep growl filling the room and rousing John from the weakened stupor the vampire had left him in.

Dean pounced, claws outstretched, and managed to gouge a chunk out of the other creature's shoulder before it stumbled back to the wall, grabbing his snout and cutting off his air supply as it gazed into his eyes. He felt himself weakening almost instantly, and not just because of the lack of oxygen. He struggled to keep his focus as his mind began to swim. He reached out and pushed the vampire to the floor.

Leaning up against the wall for support as he regained his strength, Dean looked toward his father, who seemed to have almost fully recovered from the vamp's attack and was just starting to notice that one of his wrists was free.

The vampire jumped up and tried to grab hold of the wolf again, but Dean was ready for it and dodged its attack, spinning as it slammed into the wall and pinning it there, its face away from his. He leaned in close, sticking his nose beneath its ear and growling low in his throat. The noise elicited a shudder from his captive, a sign that the creature knew that it had a definite fight on its hands.

Without warning, the vamp sent its elbow straight back into Dean's stomach, causing the wolf to stumble backward. The other creature pushed itself from the wall and turned to face Dean just as he was regaining his balance.

They circled each other, eyes flashing, teeth bared. From the corner of his eyes, Dean watched as his father began struggling with the remaining rope that held him to the bed.

Suddenly, the vampire leapt, slamming Dean up against the wall. It placed both hands on his shoulders moved its head steadily closer, forcing the werewolf to lower his snout and look it in the eyes.

Dean felt himself weakening again as the vamp started to feed, sapping his energy. Every muscle relaxed and his body slumped down, relying on the hungry vampire to keep him upright. His eyelids grew heavy as bricks and it became a fight to even stay awake.

He saw a slight movement at his side, but was too tired to focus, too tired to think, too tired to even breathe. He barely noticed as something warm and wet splashed over him, soaking his head and splattering his shoulders and chest. He was only aware of falling, sliding down the wall, slumping over until he was lying almost flat on the floor.

He looked up with tired eyes to see his father, a man he now knew that he could trust, a man that had forgiven him for his shortcomings, for being bitten, and had accepted him once again as his son.

And then he saw the knife. Long and silver, it was drenched in the vampire's blood and held tightly in John's hand, pointed at Dean. "A monster is a monster," John snarled, his face contorting with a mixture of sorrow and fear as he stared down at the werewolf. Dean let his eyes slide shut.


	8. Chapter 8

I can't believe it! I was so focused on finishing homework and planning a Supernatural DVD party and updating that I forgot to mention that this is the final chapter of "Flux." Oops. Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy it, and I want to thank you for reviewing like you have. I know I say it a lot, but it really does mean so much to me.

As far as I know, there isn't going to be another sequel to "The Change," but if you love the mental image this story gave you, you might want to keep your eyes open for my next story, a shortie called "Man's Best Friend." Just a suggestion!

* * *

"Couldn't find it," Sam announced as he walked through the door to the motel room after sunrise, "and I looked everywhere in that park. You guys get…" He trailed off as he noticed the figure lying prone in the bed that his father had inhabited the day before. He fell back against the door in shock, staring at the body, his mouth open, heart racing, eyes beginning to water with the truth of what he saw.

Dean was lying in the bed, his head and face and chest and shoulders drenched in drying blood. The sheets, which had been splattered in most places and nearly soaked through in others, were pulled up to his hips. His hands lay limply beside him, his eyes closed, lips barely parted.

Sam forced himself to tear his eyes from his brother and look around the room. The ropes that had bound his father to the bed were still there, but frayed, broken, useless. The knife Dean made Sam keep under his pillow was lying on the floor, coated in tacky blood, lying in the middle of a puddle of the crimson liquid that had soaked into the carpet.

Everything hit him at once, and he had to fight to hold back the tears, to stay reasonable. His father had killed Dean. His father had _murdered_ Dean. Dean, who had always followed John's orders and been a perfect soldier, who had sacrificed everything to save his killer's life, who was covered with blood because Sam had left him alone with someone who thought he was a monster.

The sound of the toilet flushing barely reached him, only made a small blip on his radar. His father was still there. The murderer was still there, but what did it matter? Dean was dead. He was dead and he wasn't coming back and John had killed him, had stabbed with a silver knife, had covered him in blood and then moved him to the bed after the deed was done and he was human once again.

The bathroom door opened and John walked out, wiping his hands on his pants and smiling as if everything was all right, as if he hadn't murdered his oldest son, as if Sam was going to see it as a good thing, an escape, an excuse to leave again.

"Oh, you're back," John said, smiling at his youngest son, "guess what?"

Sam was off the floor before he even realized that he was moving. He crossed the room in record time and pinned his father to the wall, crushing the older man's throat with his forearm. "_You killed him_," Sam screamed, covering his father's face with flecks of spit, "after everything he did for you, _you killed him!_"

"You're wrong," John choked, his face turning red, eyes bulging as Sam leaned farther into him, pushing him painfully into the wall, relishing the way he struggled for freedom the same way Dean had struggled for love.

"No, I'm not," he yelled, "Dean was still Dean. He wasn't an it, dad. If you had bothered-"

"What's going on?"

Sam spun around at the sound of his brother's voice, dropping his father to the floor, all anger melting from his body. "Dean?"

"I'm out for a couple of hours and you guys are already at it?"

Sammy took full advantage of his long legs when it came to getting to his brother. He practically collapsed at the end of older man's bed. "You're not dead?"

"Don't think so."

"What happened?"

"Let me answer that," John rasped, rubbing at his throat as he slid up into a standing position, using the wall for support. "Last night, the vampire came after me again. Your brother cut me free and then started fighting it. It started to drain him, and I cut its head off using that knife of yours. Dean had passed out, so I moved him from the floor to the bed, burnt the vamp's body, and washed up. Then you came in."

Sam looked from his father to his brother and back again. "You… moved him to the bed?"

"Thought it would be more comfortable," his father shrugged.

"You saved him from the vampire?"

"You don't have to sound so shocked."

"Yeah, dad, I think I do. After all, yesterday you wanted to kill him."

John shrugged again. "Things change."

Sam blinked. He wanted to know what was different, he really did, but couldn't bring himself to ask. He looked back at Dean, who had pulled the covers up farther over his body and rolled over on the bed to fall back to sleep. Maybe he didn't need to know. Maybe all that was important was that the family was back together. For the time being, at least. "When you leaving?" He saw Dean open one eye.

John sighed, sitting down on the other bed and running a hand through his graying hair. "Don't think I am."

Sam's mouth dropped open and Dean shot up in bed. "What?" they asked together.

Their father shook his head, looking down at his feet. "I realized something last night. You boys… you both grew up. I don't even know when it happened. Just… _poof_ and you were taller than me." He looked back up at them. "I missed too much, and I don't want to miss anything else."

"You mean it?" Dean asked, his voice soft, eyes hopeful. Sam recognized the expression. It was the same one his brother had fixed him with at the room in Chicago, the same one he'd used when begging Sam to stay and be a family.

"Yeah," John nodded, "I mean it."

"Same here," Sam added, turning to his brother and smiling slightly.

"You sure?" Dean asked, lying back down on the bed, unable to keep his own smile at bay, "because it's not gonna be a cakewalk. There's more to worry about now."

"I trust you," John said.

"Yeah, I figured that out. I'm not talking about that, though. I'm talking about rabies vaccines and fleas and ticks and heartworm. That stuff costs money."

"I think we'll survive," Sam grinned, looking over at his father as Dean drifted off again. Something had happened the night before, something to make everything all right, to finally get Dean everything he'd ever really wanted: a family. And all it took was him getting turned into a monster. It really was funny how things worked out.

* * *

And there it is. The end. Feels good, right? Yeah. Just soak it in. Now, go to your local superstore and pick up the season 2 DVDs. You know you want to... 


End file.
